On Target
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Oneshot explaining Tim's great aim during the season 10 episode Phoenix. Some season 10 spoilers.


**A/N:** This is a short oneshot that explains why Tim was such a great shot in _Phoenix_. I really enjoyed the episode and just wanted to elaborate on a fun scene. There are some season 10 spoilers. So don't read if you're deathly afraid of having the episodes spoiled in any way. There isn't a lot of info, but there is some. It kind of builds off my oneshot _Could Be Worse_, but really isn't a sequel to it in any way.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS or its characters. I'm not making money off this story and the brief moment of recognizable dialogue belongs to the NCIS franchise.

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**On Target  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

"Hey, McGee, we're going to get a drink. Join us?" Tony asked.

Tim shook his head and smiled.

"No, thanks, Tony. I'm going to turn in early tonight."

"That is what you said yesterday," Ziva said.

"And last week," Tony added.

"Are you feeling all right?" Ziva asked. "You have not been out of the hospital for very long."

Tim smiled. "It's been two weeks. I'm fine, Ziva. I'm just tired."

"Are you sure, Probie?"

"Positive, Tony. I have a clean bill of health."

"Okay. But tomorrow! You're coming out with us. No arguments."

"Okay, Tony. Tomorrow."

Ziva leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"We must rebuild in more ways than one," she said softly. "Do not forget that there is more than this."

"I won't forget," he said softly in reply.

"Good. Have a good night."

"I will."

Tim watched them leave and smiled as the doors closed. He probably _would_ go to bed early, but it wasn't going to be right now. He got up and left NCIS, heading for the firing range, not for his apartment. He made sure that he was alone before taking the next step.

Instead of the usual faceless target, he put up a picture of Dearing, trying to ignore the momentary twinge in his torso. It seemed like every time he thought about Dearing, he felt a sharp pain where the glass shard had penetrated. He shook it off and moved the picture back into position.

He stared at it for a while and then brought up his gun and aimed at Dearing's head. He fired twelve rounds without pausing, emptying the magazine. He pulled out the magazine, set the empty one down and picked up his spare. He loaded it, aimed and fired again. Twelve shots.

Then, he set down the empty gun and brought the photo back. Most of the shots were kill shots, but not all.

Not good enough.

He reloaded the magazines, moved the photo back, took aim and fired.

Twelve shots.

Pull out the empty magazine. Replace it with the full one.

Aim. Fire.

Twelve shots.

Pull the photo back and check.

Too many not kill shots.

Reload the magazines.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Tim had bought his own ammo for this. While he was required to keep his certification, this went way beyond that, and he knew it. So the ammo was his own. He just used the range.

After a while, there was nothing left of Dearing's head.

So Tim moved to the chest. Of course, the torso was an easier target, but he could get kill shots there, too, and it didn't pay to ignore that. He repeated his routine, only with his focus on the chest, checking after he emptied the magazines each time.

He still wasn't satisfied. He needed to be better...but the photo was pretty much hashed. He'd have to sneak another copy without anyone noticing.

"How many rounds was that?"

Tim spun around and his eyes widened. It was too late to hide his target. He hadn't yet taken it down.

"I didn't use any of the agency ammo," he said defensively. "I bought it all myself."

"That's not what I asked," Gibbs said from his position behind Tim. "How many rounds?"

Tim shrugged and turned back. He took down the tattered remains of the photo, tore it into pieces and threw it away. He was very conscious of Gibbs being there.

"You feel any better?"

"My aim is improving."

"Again, that's not what I asked."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Followed you. How many copies have you made?"

"A few."

"How many boxes have you used?"

"A few."

"Is it helping you feel better?"

"No. Not really."

"What are you doing it for?"

"To be ready. I've never been as good as I could be, as I _should_ be. There's no excuse for that. I'm going to get better."

"And then what?"

"What do you mean?" Tim asked. "What more is there?"

"After we find Dearing, when then?"

"I'll still be a good shot."

"Will you be able to let this go?" Gibbs asked, gesturing at the remains of the picture.

"Maybe." Tim followed Gibbs' gaze. "Maybe not."

"Stop shooting at him, Tim."

"Who should I shoot at, then, Boss?"

"A target."

"What better target is there right now? He's yours isn't he? He's the focus of everything we've been doing. He's not going away that easily, Boss. Be honest. If you had the chance, if he was standing right here in front of you, wouldn't you take him out? No matter what the cost?"

Gibbs hesitated for a moment.

"Wouldn't you, Boss?"

"Yes."

"If it was me, I don't know if I could hit him on the first try...and I don't want to take more than one shot. I don't want to give him another chance to get away."

"And after we get him?"

Tim felt the same twinge. He ignored it.

"Will we, Boss? Will we get him?"

"Yes," Gibbs said with no hesitation. "Can you let this go after?"

"I don't know."

"Then, what good will all this be after it's over?"

Tim smiled weakly.

"I'll impress the chicks?"

He expected a headslap, but it didn't come. Gibbs smiled, too.

"You're done for tonight, Tim. Go home. Sleep it off."

"Can't sleep this off, Boss."

"You can try. You feeling all right?"

"I'm fine."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Tim hoped that he hadn't noticed the little twinges. He didn't want that to be obvious to anyone at all.

"Go home."

"Understood."

"That means you're going to leave."

"Target's in the trash," Tim said. "I only use one photo each time. I just use it to make sure I can hit the target."

"You can."

"Not enough. I don't want to miss any, and I'll keep practicing until I can hit every time."

"No more using Dearing as your target. If you can hit the target, you should be able to hit it with anyone. Doesn't matter who or what. Putting a face there confines your ability."

Tim nodded reluctantly. "You're not going to tell the others about this, are you?"

"Not if you stop."

"Okay. Okay, Boss."

"Good. Let's go."

Tim could see that Gibbs wasn't going to trust him to leave on his own. So he walked out with him and then he headed for his car.

"Hey, Tim."

He turned back.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"You're a good shot."

Tim smiled.

"Thanks, Boss."

He got in his car and drove home.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Four months later..._

Tim aimed at the target. For just a moment, he imagined Dearing's face there but then banished the image and fired.

He didn't miss one shot.

"You trying to impress me?"

"Looks like I did," he said with just a bit of a smirk.

FINIS!


End file.
